Dance of Fate
by Aethelynne
Summary: Succumbing to the pull of human emotion, God begins to feel guilt. And the strong desire to redeem himself. What better way to do so than give someone's destiny a slight push in the right direction? Dean and Castiel prove to be immune to cupid's touch though, so he decides to take things into his own celestial hands. Dean/Cas rated for future smut
1. Prologue

It always starts with a dream, doesn't it? Dean's unconscious mind drags him to a cold, open field. Castiel's shrouded figure looms entirely too far away for the hunter's liking, who instinctively takes a cautious step to close the distance. A few more steps, icy blue meeting deep emerald irises. Confusion and frustration swirl wildly within both men's orbs, as the gap between them renews itself. Four more strides forward, and the angel isn't any closer than he was before. This infuriating dance continues until Dean can't remember _why_ he wants to get closer, he just knows that it pisses him off that he _can't_.

Hours later, a livid Dean wakes to the familiar sound of snoring coming from Sam's bed. Finally, something that makes _sense_. A quick glimpse at his phone reveals that it's 6 in the friggin' morning, earning a defiant groan from the older Winchester. He's glad that damn dream is over, but his mind couldn't even allow him at least 4 hours of sleep?

Trudging his way through a half-assed morning routine, he's _vaguely _aware that the dream is lingering. The frustration is still wound tightly in his gut, and he still wants to kill something to alleviate it. With an expert flick of his wrist, Dean sends a neatly folded newspaper crashing into the wall above his brother's head, effectively waking him with a startled gasp.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" He grins, half of a cheap bagel hanging out of his mouth.

"Dude, what the _hell_?!" The younger Winchester's voice is laced with sleep, but he's awake enough to send his brother a deadly glare. Or, as Dean likes to call it, Bitchface #563.

"I don't know about you, but I'm ready to start another job." Dean doesn't know why, but he always becomes morning-person-Dean when Sam is involved. Nothing says, 'of course I'm alright Sammy, why wouldn't I be?' like fake enthusiasm and deflection. Two things Dean's a fucking _master _of. Sam sighs in response, easily slipping into bitchface #564.

"You're not tired of hunting down halo patrol's nukes?" The quick answer to this question is no, no Dean is _not_tired of chasing after heaven's weapons. The truth, which he'll deny until hell freezes over, is that he really hopes Cas will drop in to help. The thought of those topaz eyes boring into him from mere inches away, communicating more in a single glance than he ever says aloud, soothes that persistant ache in his chest.

"Beats the hell out of laying around in this freakin' hotel room!" Dean drops the uneaten portion of his bagel onto the wooden tabel to his side, deciding that he chose a breakfast that's _way_too healthy. He rummages through their temporary fridge, tearing a box of pre-cooked bacon out and throwing the contents into the hotel's grungy excuse of a microwave. Sam shoots him a disapproving frown, affectionately nicknamed bitchface #1. The face that started it all.

"I've already retrieved the weapon in this town." Castiel's familiar gravelly voice resenates from behind the two Winchesters, making both of them jump.

"Jesus Cas!" The angel frowns at Dean's word choice, and the older hunter momentarily wonders if he's going to have to start numbering Castiel's faces, too. If so, the one plastered on him right now will be considered stoicface #1.

"You'd think we'd be used to him doing that by now." Sam muses to himself, knowing his words are falling on two sets of deaf ears. The two men's eyes meet, effectively erasing the rest of the world. Considering how intelligent both men are, they're really fucking oblivious. Sam rolls his eyes, slinking out of the makeshift kitchen.

Just like in his dream, Dean reaches one foot forward, jade eyes on Cas the whole time. Relief washes over him when nothing happens, and the urge to laugh bubbles in his chest. Of course nothing happened, it was just a dream! He shakes his head at himself, ashamed smile gracing his lips. Dean isn't much for 'chickflick moments' but the urge to _touch_ Castiel is overpowering. He wanders towards the other man, itching to slap his back affectionately or _something_. Only to watch, shocked, as Castiel is very literally _tugged _backwards. The angel stumbles, surprise evident on his usually expressionless face.

"What the hell...?" Dean's hand reaches out on its own accord, though it proves to be pointless when Cas is yanked backwards once again. Comprehension settles in Castiel's sky-colored irises, quickly replaced with fear.

"Dean, stop! It's... God's will."

"Clearly he doesn't know who he's messing with, then." He can't stop the rebellious grin from spreading across his lips as he continues stalking towards Castiel, ignoring the voice yelling in the back of his mind that there are a million questions he should be asking. Dean follows as the angel staggers helplessly, until his back crashes into an ugly hotel wall with a dramatic thump. It's the weakest he's ever seen Castiel look. It's hard to take in, sympathy welling in Dean's core. But it's also one of the sexiest things Dean has ever seen. His hair is ruffled, dirty trenchcoat threatening to slip off of one arm. The black shirt underneath is also pushed wide open, revealing a final thin layer seperating greedy emerald eyes from that mysterious body.

"What's he going to do, pull you through a wall?" Dean jokes, hoping Cas doesn't notice the worry in his voice. Ignoring the possibility that God could very easily decide to destroy the hotel by dragging Cas through it, he closes the gap that God so desperately tried to maintain. Damn near chest to chest, Cas sporting that deer-in-headlights look, Dean _swears _that he feels the angel unsuccessfully hold back a shiver. Just like that, Cas is gone, letting a very confused Dean stumble forward into the now vacant wall. He runs a shaky hand down his face, mind racing to make sense of whatever the fuck it was that just happened.

But he can't think of anything other than the fear radiating off of the angel, and how it failed to mask the burning lust in those azure irises Dean can't get enough of.

* * *

Author's Note: This is pretty much a prologue, meant to make no sense whatsoever. :) I've taken a break from writing, so like always it may be kinda rough at first. This fic won't be very long(unless it gets away from me) BUT I initially wanted it to be a oneshot. So, I'm already planning on making it longer than it was supposed to be initially. We'll see what happens. Let me know what you think so far!


	2. Grace Searching

Names are an entirely human concept, a sense of individualism. As an angel, names are assigned purely for humanity's sake. Apparently, "Hey you, wavelength of celestial intent!" is too wordy for humans. Angels work as a whole, a massive force that exists to carry out God's will. Because of this, the principle of possession is foreign to an angel. Usually.

Cas slumps backwards into the wooden mass of his snow-white bench, his favorite object when Dean gives him yet another confusing emotion to mull over. The angel finds himself perched on this wooden piece of furniture more often than he cares to admit. This time, the emotion of choice is lust.

Lust isn't new to Castiel. He's felt his vessel react to numerous images over the years, but each time, he's been able to chalk it up to Jimmy's perferences. Always scantly clad women. But, Jimmy didn't survive the(extremely one-sided) fight with Lucifer, his body slowly but surely merging with Castiel's essence. The connection stretches beyond the spiritual level; sure, his grace is completely laced into this body. But, the figure also _feels_like it belongs to him. His mannerisms flow freely, like the frame has always been accomodating his being. Plus, there's the fact that this is the face that Dean thinks of when the name 'Castiel' is mentioned.. The bench, and this body, have become Castiel's possessions. Both largely because of the oldest Winchester.

He can't blame the erratic breathing, that has yet to dissipate, on Jimmy this time. A gentle tremble racks his body as his traitorous mind replays the scene; Rough wall biting his back, an invisible force holding him in place. Dean's emerald eyes gleam with defiance and oddly placed hunger, being his typical self and ignoring the angel's warning. Unable to move, the promise of having to endure whatever it is Dean wants to _do_to him... is extremely alluring. Even to someone who is less sensual than a rusty nail.

Castiel fights off the smile threatening to break free, it's so _like_ Dean to do the opposite of what God wants. Hell, the elder Winchester often does the opposite of what _he_wants for himself. God knows this, so why is he willing distance between them? Everyone that knows Dean, knows that he'll just rebel for the hell of it. And then shoot you in the face for thinking that you can tell him what to do.

Soul-searching complete(for now), Castiel decides that there's one thing he knows for certain; it's all Lucifer's fault. Castiel wouldn't be sitting on this bench right now if Jimmy were still alive. He wouldn't be falling headfirst into humanity.

With a sigh, Castiel wills his grace to reach for Dean's soul; contact he's been yearning for since he flew away from the hunter. It's a deeper form of empathy, emotions shared fluidly from charge to angel. It's nice just being able to _feel_Dean, but it's usually counter-productive. 11 times out of 10, it's Dean that turns Castiel into this angelic mess of need. Regardless, the sensation of Dean's soul gripping back is always enough to soothe Castiel's deepest worries, an intense calm blanketing his trenchcoat-clad body. He doubts Dean even realizes that he does it.

The angel has formed a habit of watching for any signs of distress coming from his charge. Basically, anything negative forcing its way through the connection between them. Well, more negative than usual, anyway. A strong tug of frustration courses through their spiritual link, and Castiel's by Dean's side in a heartbeat. He hides his presence, knowing Dean would grill him with lots of questions about the supposed "invisible to angels" sigils carved into his ribs if he knew the angel can still sense him.

He's greeted by the sight of a busty brunette storming away from his charge, anger creasing her manicured eyebrows. Dean just shrugs, pulling more beer through his lips while expert eyes hunt for another beautiful woman. An unfamiliar emotion coils in Castiel's gut as a pretty blonde saunters over to Dean, instantly capturing the hunter's attention. The angel can smell the alcohol radiating from her, making him roll his eyes. Something he's learned from Sam, much to Dean's amusement. The woman grins, tugging Dean to his feet and ushering him towards the door. Panic overcomes Castiel's angelic rationality, forcing him to do the only thing he can think of. A gentle touch of his index and middle finger, and her limp body falls to the floor. Considering the amount of alcohol she's obviously drank, it just looks like she passed out.

Defeat washes over Dean's masculine features, arms flying up in exasperation.

"Screw this noise, I give up." Sapphire eyes follow the man, watching him climb into his beloved Impala with a dramatic door slam that he immediately regrets. Dean drives off, leaving his angel to stand there with only one thing running through his mind. The love that he _knows_ he feels for Dean can no longer be written off as "purely angelic." And that thought scares the hell out of Castiel.

* * *

"And she just, fell over? You didn't think to check on her?" Sam eyes his brother incredulously, not sure what to make of Dean's sudden need to be a douche.

"I'm too tired to care, Sammy." Dean's propped up against the wall behind his bed, wishing Sam would shut the hell up and let him get some sleep. A little voice in the back of his head reminds him that sleep could just bring more annoying dreams, but he's also too tired to care about that. All he's been doing since Cas disappeared is think, and now he's more confused than he was to begin with. Denial tends to do that. Hopefully his mind will treat him to a steamy dream about his best friend. Then he can wake up and say, "Oh, good. I have the hots for Castiel. That's awesome." At least that would make _sense_, because Dean understands lust. He understands the mystery that stares him in the eye every time the angel is around, begging to quite literally be unraveled. While there's certainly a such thing as_too much_clothing, Cas takes it to a whole new level. And dammit, now he's thinking about this whole mess again. Nothing's ever easy, he should know that by now.

Dean turns his back to his brother, hoping he'll get the hint. He must, because the silence quickly lulls Dean to unconsciousness. Hundreds of miles away, a victorious grin radiates from Chuck's core.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I don't know why I'm having so much trouble making these chapters longer. Either way, this was an important chapter! Thanks for all of the follows/favorites, perhaps I can get a review or two?


	3. Broken Wings

_Castiel can tell you the exact moment he discovered his love for Dean. Just like the hunter, Castiel busies himself with battle to ease unwanted frustrations. The angel was up in heaven after a particularly harsh slight of words with Dean, desperately searching for a follower or two of Raphael's to sink his blade into._

_The thick air of heaven is surprisingly void of noise as Castiel wanders through its vastness, senses on fire. The sound of metal hitting metal has filled its figurative walls for far too long, its absence is almost unsettling. A malicious laugh rings behind him, bringing his steps to an abrupt halt._

_"Well well well. Your precious boys have stopped ordering you around long enough to let you venture into Heaven?" A man in a black suit-seemingly common for angelic vessels- towers threateningly over the shorter man, ear-length black hair accentuating the devilish intent in his eyes._

_Ever the chatterbox, Castiel wastes no time dropping his knife into his waiting hand. His body hums with anticipation, a sensation that nearly got him killed the first time it arose. The other angel shakes his head disapprovingly, reaching for his own silver blade. The familiar clang of knife meeting knife graces Castiel's ears once again._

_"You don't say much, do you Castiel?" The trenchcoat-clad angel responds by lunging at the man, blade held against his throat in a very human manner. A threat._

_"I have no interest in talking." The sting of killing his brothers has faded over time, perhaps the worst way Dean has effected him. There's no hesitation, no guilt. Just a carefully aimed blade meeting flesh._

_The other angel is more acrobatic than Castiel, evading each thrust of the knife with nearly perfect precision. When Cas _does_ land a hit, it's just a small nick. As deadly as a papercut. An evil chuckle escapes the other angel's lips, who tucks his angel blade safely into his vessel's jacket._

_"Perhaps I should give you something to talk about, then." In an instant his wings are unfurled, disappearing towards Earth. Towards Dean. Cas takes off after him as soon as he pieces together the other angel's intentions, rage and fierce protectiveness clouding his vision._

_A determined hand buries itself into lightly colored feathers, pulling the angel back up into heaven. Castiel uses his grip to hurl the man into this particular heaven's soil with inhuman strength, foot resting against the small of his back._

_"You will inot/i harm Dean." He tugs and pushes in all of the right spots, bones cracking under his strength until the angel's wings are a broken, bloody mess against his back. Gut wrenching screams rush from the man's lips, pointlessly begging the stronger angel for mercy. For death._

_"Just... Kill me... Already." He's trembling, white-hot pain short circuiting his angelic ability to heal. Castiel smirks, backing away from the broken follower._

_"No." His beautiful, unbroken wings pull him off of the ground, leaving the man to suffer through unimaginable pain. Because he _dared _to threaten Dean._

_After that fight, his intention was to hunt for another weapon to aid him in future battles, but he found himself nestled on his bench for the 38th time. His actions were cruel, but more importantly, reckless. Leaving the angel alive certainly means he'll communicate information from the fight to Raphael. And that will definitely be... unpleasant._

At least Dean is safe. _Castiel's eyes fly open from the thought, tentatively considering the warning he growled at the other angel. You will _not_ harm Dean. The revelation should surprise him more, but he remembers how he longed for such a gleaming soul the first time he laid eyes on it. Surely, the love he feels for Dean is purely angelic. Because he's his charge._

Sam's your charge, too. _Castiel shakes his head, deciding he's done enough thinking._

* * *

"Good morning, Sam." Castiel calls from his spot on the couch, glancing over as the younger Winchester sits up.

"Morning, Cas. What's up?" The angel squirms uncomfortably at the question, suddenly not able to meet Sam's gaze.

"I... have a problem." When the angel finally does look up, Sam sees poorly disguised panic in his eyes.

"What kind of problem?"

"Human." Sam nods, but Cas's response really doesn't ease his confusion much.

"Alright, let's go outside." He rises to his feet, motioning for the angel to follow. Outside, they sit on a nearby edge of a stretch of sidewalk, legs awkwardly resting against asphalt. It's difficult for Sam to sit like this, but they don't have any other options. Unless Cas wants to zap them somewhere. Castiel folds his hands in his lap, finding a far away tree very interesting. Anything to avoid Sam's scrutinizing glances. As the master of intense stares, it takes a lot to make the angel want to look away.

"I really don't know where to begin. I guess, by mentioning that I've done two things recently because of human emotions."

"Like what?"

"Most recently, using my powers to 'knock out' an innocent woman at a bar." Sam's eyes widen, piecing the clues together. _Castiel is the one that made that woman collapse of the bar last night._

"What emotion caused you to do that?" Sam asks, idly noticing that he doesn't feel anywhere near as awkward as he should, having this conversation with Cas.

"I haven't decided yet. But jealousy makes the most sense." Sam chuckles at Cas's matter-of-fact tone. Even amidst all of the foreign feelings, Castiel is still very much an angel.

Behind the unlatched door to their motel room, a very awake Dean cautiously backs away from the overheard conversation. Sam carelessly left the door open an inch, letting every word reach the elder Winchester's ears.

"I agree." Sam pats his brother's future boyfriend on the shoulder, trying to ease the conflict he senses underneath Cas's calm exterior.

"What do I do?"

"Nothing." Sam chuckles, leaving his hand on Castiel's dejected shoulders. "My brother is stubborn. If you came right out with something like this, he'd just clam up and push you away." The younger hunter frowns at the truth in his own words before flashing the angel a sympathetic smile.

"So you're saying I'm going to have to deal with this frustration forever?" Cas slumps forward, unintentionally pulling away from Sam's touch.

"Nah." Sam glances up at the sky, noticing the waning sunrise. His favorite part about being a morning person. "Just let him act first. I suspect you won't be waiting much longer." Castiel frowns, wondering what exactly Sam means by that.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Thanks for the review! Here's the update you asked for.


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